


The Test of Freedom

by OlwenDylluan



Series: It Cannot Be Taken From You [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Family, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Other, Snakes, coparenting is hard, does it count as kid fic if the kids are snakes but so is one of the parents, ineffable kids, parenting is hard, wiggleverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:21:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22242529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlwenDylluan/pseuds/OlwenDylluan
Summary: After working through his feelings of parental inadequacy and redefining what family means over their first Christmas all together, Crowley realizes that there is a loose thread from his past that needs to be addressed...This story begins a couple of weeks after the conclusion ofComfort & Joy.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Warlock Dowling, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Warlock Dowling
Series: It Cannot Be Taken From You [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602421
Comments: 70
Kudos: 350
Collections: Wiggleverse





	The Test of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

> “The family is the test of freedom; because the family is the only thing that the free man makes for himself and by himself.”  
> —Gilbert K. Chesterton

The card arrived in early January.

“Dowling?” Aziraphale said, pausing to squint at the return address on an envelope as he sorted through the post.

Crowley plucked it from his hand as he walked past. Aziraphale turned to follow him, bewildered.

“Crowley, how did the Dowlings track us down?”

“Sent the hellspawn a card,” was the reply as Crowley picked up his cup of coffee and went out the back door. Aziraphale blinked after him.

Crowley closed the greenhouse door behind him and leaned against the edge of a table, staring at the envelope.

During his wallow and crisis of confidence in his ability to be a decent father to the snakelets, he had—in a sudden fit of something resembling nostalgia and the need to reaffirm that he hadn't scarred the other child he had recently raised—written and sent a holiday card to Warlock. It wasn't much; just a simple card with “thinking of you, I know I would be proud of who you have become, happy Christmas, Nanny” sort of thing.

And someone had written back.

Warlock, judging by the handwriting on the front of the envelope.

He put it down on the potting table next to him and picked up his mug, sipping it absently.

He hadn't expected a reply. He wasn't even sure he'd wanted one. Sending the card had been spur of the moment, probably not very well thought out, almost certainly something to regret doing.

And now this.

He wasn't sure how long he'd leaned against the table staring into nothing, but his coffee was cold the next time he lifted it to his lips. The cup went back to the table and his hand hesitated over the envelope for a moment before he told himself he was being ridiculous, picked it up, slit it open with a fingernail, and pulled out the letter inside.

  
  


Aziraphale waited until the children were in bed and Crowley was draped moodily over the sofa to ask.

“And how is dear Warlock?” he said, handing Crowley a glass of wine.

“Miserable,” was the short answer.

“Ah.” Aziraphale took his seat in his armchair, looking down into his own glass. “That’s… I'm so sorry.”

“It is what it is, right, angel?” Crowley tossed the majority of the wine down his throat.

“I rather think that after all we've gone through, saying that anything ‘is what it is’ seems like one isn't trying very hard.”

Crowley looked at him, trying to decide if this was a jab or not. Aziraphale was looking thoughtfully into the fire.

“Are you,” Crowley finally said, “suggesting that it doesn't have to be this way?”

“Well, of course it doesn't,” Aziraphale said. “And you've already decided what you're going to do about it, so why don't you just tell me, dear.”

Crowley sat upright on the sofa, shaking his head.

“There's that bastard side of you.”

“And you love me. Well?” Aziraphale said patiently.

“Family’s back in America. He's at a London-area boarding school. Well, he was in America for Christmas, but his family wasn't. They were off ambassadoring somewhere.”

“He was alone? With no one but the staff?” Aziraphale said, horrified. “The poor boy!”

“Exactly.” Crowley unfolded himself and began pacing moodily.

“That’s not at all right,” Aziraphale declared indignantly. “How often does this happen?”

“More often than not, I expect.” Crowley refilled his wineglass. “Aziraphale… I want to—”

“Of _course_ he is welcome here, darling,” Aziraphale said, rising to his feet. “At any time. He's our _godson_.”

Crowley drew in a deep breath. He hadn't doubted, not for a moment, but it was still a relief to hear. Aziraphale put his arms around him. 

“Ask when his next break is. He can spend it with us. Christmas break is over, half-term won't be for a while… why don't we have him down for a weekend? Wet everyone’s feet, so to speak.”

“That’s what I… but angel. What about the children?”

“Everyone will get along,” Aziraphale said stoutly. “It will only be for a couple of days.”

  
  


_I don’t want to meet him,_ Junior said mulishly.

The topic was worrisome enough that everyone had gone snakey for comfort.

 _I’m afraid of what might happen,_ said Rosa.

 _What’s wrong with just us?_ Angelica said. _Why does Father need to go find someone he took care of ages ago?_

 _Doesn’t Father love us anymore?_ Clem whispered.

“Father will always love you,” Aziraphale said. “And so will I. This is something Father needs to do for himself. Father devoted five years to raising this boy, and then everything changed. For both of them. They haven’t seen one another for nine years.”

 _He doesn’t see his family very often, if they live across the ocean,_ Datura said quietly.

 _Don’t care,_ Angelica muttered.

“Be charitable,” Aziraphale suggested gently. “You have Father to yourselves every day. Warlock will spend a single weekend with us. Two sleeps.”

 _Fine. But I won’t enjoy it,_ Junior warned.

 _Warlock is an odd name,_ Rosa observed. _Doesn’t it mean—_

“Yes, Rosa,” Aziraphale said, “it’s unusual. It was… a thing. At—the time. You see, Father and I thought Warlock was someone involved in Armageddon, which is why Father worked as his nanny and took care of him. It was his responsibility, he felt.”

_What about you, Azirafather?_

“Oh, I tortured plants as a gardener on the same estate, since your father was otherwise occupied.” When the children giggled at the ludicrous notion, Aziraphale added, “Unfortunately, they didn’t grow the way they do when Father tortures them.”

The new round of giggles gradually faded away.

“What do you say then, loves?” Aziraphale said softly after a few moments of silence. “Shall we give Warlock a chance?”

 _He can come,_ Junior said finally. _But I’m going to be snakey._

 _Me too,_ Angelica announced darkly.

 _I think we all should,_ Rosa said. They all nodded at each other.

“If that makes you feel safer,” Aziraphale agreed. “And it would probably be easier for Warlock, as well, since he doesn't know about you all yet.”

 _Where is he going to sleep?_ Datura asked.

“Well, we’ll probably have to make another room,” Aziraphale said.

 _He can use my room,_ Clem volunteered quietly. _I never use my bed anyway._

“That is very kind, my dear,” Aziraphale said, running a gentle finger over Clem’s head. The snake leaned into the touch.

 _Everyone can sleep in my room,_ Angelica announced. _We have to stick together, with a stranger in the house._

  
  


Arrangements had to be made, of course. The Dowlings had to be contacted by Nanny, who offered to host Warlock for a weekend away from school as a treat. The Dowlings were thrilled that Warlock had a local contact, and communicated with the school, updating permissions. Warlock himself had to be invited, and he had accepted. The weekend was quickly scheduled, and Crowley drove up to Surrey to pick him up from his boarding school.

On that drive, Crowley ran through a dozen different scenarios and ways the weekend could go. Even their first meeting after nine years apart would be unpredictable, let alone two entire days. However it went, Crowley was determined that Warlock would have some kind of home with people who loved him if he wanted it.

At the school, Crowley signed in at the office and waited for them to call Warlock. The teenage boy appeared with a small suitcase, school tie loose and askew, hair almost down to his shoulders, trying to present the air of someone casual and not overly committed to whatever this might mean.

“Oh, my boy,” Nanny Ashtoreth said, and Warlock’s cool exterior cracked.

  
  


Warlock wasn't sure what he had expected. When the invitation had arrived, he'd seen it as a way to get out of town for a couple of days. He had fond memories of Nanny, although his later experiences had shaped him into something he wasn't quite sure she would be proud of, as she had written in her Christmas card.

The arrival of the Christmas card out of nowhere the year he was fourteen had been enough of a surprise. A welcome one, of course, while his parents were gone and the only people he saw daily were staff. It had reminded him of how fun Nanny had made those holidays when his parents were in another country. He'd written back, pouring out his heart to the magical memory of the one constant during the first five years of his life.

And then came the invitation to stay with her, and everything happened so quickly. He'd shown up, cocky and bored and trying to be cool, but he should have known that wouldn't work around Nanny.

She wore a tailored black pantsuit with a narrow silver mesh lariat necklace, and black heels that weren't as sensible as those she’d worn while employed by his parents. Her red hair was long and wavy, caught back in a low ponytail, and she still wore sunglasses, though this pair was trendier. Her lipstick was deep red. Her voice wasn’t as prim, and her accent was more relaxed.

Nanny was… cooler than she’d been when he was a kid.

Her car was insanely vintage and probably worth a mint. How did she afford this on a nanny’s salary? Even if she'd saved and saved…

“So,” he said. “You live—south?”

“South Downs,” she said. “Lovely cottage with an orchard, fields around it, woods to run about in.”

“Do you have wifi?”

Nanny gave him a look out of the corner of her eye. “I rather think a country weekend ought not to be wasted on electronic devices.”

“Uh, sure.” He went back to looking out the window. “Do you… do you still do the nannying thing?”

“In a sense,” Nanny said. There was a bit of an odd tone to her voice.

  
  


Aziraphale was waiting outside when they pulled up.

“Master Warlock!” he exclaimed happily as he bustled up. “It is quite the pleasure to see you. My goodness, look how big you are.”

“Brother Francis?” he said. It wasn't, but it was. He didn't know why he was a bit surprised and yet not at all. It just seemed right.

“Oh, my. You may call me that if you like, of course. But these days, I, erm, go by Aziraphale.”

Warlock looked over his shoulder at Nanny Ashtoreth, who was lifting his case out of the boot.

“Do you have a different name too?”

“Nanny is fine,” she said. “If that’s not too babyish for you.”

“It's who you are,” he found himself saying.

“Come meet the rest of the family,” Aziraphale encouraged, leading Warlock to the front door.

The rest of…? His brow furrowed, he stepped inside past Aziraphale holding the door open for him, Nanny right behind him.

“Oh,” Nanny said. “I hadn't expected…”

“However they're comfortable,” Aziraphale said, and a look passed between him and Nanny that Warlock knew meant something, but was clueless as to what it could be.

He stopped in the sitting room, staring at the sofa.

“Are those… _snakes?_ ”

“Master Warlock,” Aziraphale said calmly, “meet the rest of the family.”

Warlock’s first thought was _Wicked!_ And his second was _How do they have five pet snakes just out loose in the house?_ But Nanny had never been an average kind of person, had she.

He stepped forward and knelt down in front of the sofa. Three pairs of yellow eyes and two pairs of blue looked back at him. A couple of the serpents drew back; a couple moved forward, not in a friendly way, more like getting between him and the others.

“Hello, brother and sister snakes,” he said. “I’m Warlock.”

Behind him he heard Nanny make a very odd noise. He glanced over his shoulder to see her face buried in one of her hands. Her shoulders seemed to be trembling a bit. Aziraphale stepped forward and put his hands on Warlock’s shoulders. 

“You haven’t forgotten,” he said softly, proudly. “Well done, Master Warlock.”

Warlock held out a finger and one of the snakes reached out toward it warily. He looked at Nanny again.

“Are you all right, Nanny?” he said.

“Right as rain, my dear,” she said, adjusting her glasses. “I’m fine now.”

  
  


Aziraphale served them tea, and Nanny draped herself in one of the kitchen chairs, one arm hooked over the back, her long, elegant legs extended and crossed at the ankle. They listened as Warlock told them about school, his classes, the sports days, the awards ceremonies. They heard very clearly what he did not say: his parents were rarely in attendance.

“What about friends, my boy?” Aziraphale said, his face calm as he poured another cup of tea for him.

Warlock looked into the cup. Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged glances across the table.

“I have some. Of course I do. It’s just… I'm not the same as the other kids.”

“I understand,” Nanny said quietly. She reached down a hand and one of the snakes twined up it from the floor. Over her head, Warlock saw another winding around branches secured along the kitchen wall. They really did just let the serpents roam around. Nanny brought the snake up to her lap and stroked it gently.

“Well!” Aziraphale said brightly. “While you are here, Master Warlock, you may have the run of the outdoors. Climb trees in the orchard—”

“Mind you don’t damage a single twig,” Nanny put in, her voice reminding him of similar dire warnings she’d delivered when he was ten years younger.

“—tramp through the fields, explore the windbreak and the wood; anything you like. We have plenty of books here, although I dare say you’d like the weekend off from those. I can pack you a lunch or a snack whenever you want.”

“We have nothing planned,” Nanny said in her no-nonsense voice, which was somehow reassuring. “This is your time to explore. We’ll not force you to do things you don’t want to do.”

“And if what you want to do is hang about here, staring out windows thinking of absolutely nothing, then that’s fine too.” Aziraphale rose and smiled at him. “You’re safe here, Master Warlock.”

He began clearing the table. Warlock looked at Nanny uncertainly.

“I gather you don’t often have a chance to do what you please,” Nanny said, still slowly stroking the snake. Its yellow eyes were fixed on him. “Difficult to know what to do when you’re not reacting against or resisting something, isn’t it.”

Warlock looked back up at her from the snake. She hadn’t seen him for nine years. How did she have such an uncanny insight into what his guidance counsellor called his ‘oppositional defiance’?

“I feel…” He paused. “I’m not as angry as I usually am?”

“That’s your Nanny,” Aziraphale said from the sink where he was washing up. “You’ve got her back. Everything’s all right now.”

And as ridiculous as that sounded, it was so comforting, and he was so grateful, that he had to fight a wave of prickling tears. He was fourteen, dammit. An fourteen-year-old shouldn’t be blubbering because he had his nanny back. He shoved back his chair and stood up.

“Guess I’ll try that exploring,” he said. 

“Good lad,” said Aziraphale. “Mind you zip up your coat. I have a pair of gloves that should fit you, and a hat, if you need it.”

  
  
  


It turned out that there were birds in the orchard, and rabbits down by the frozen stream that led deeper into the wood. He saw squirrels, and once he thought he saw a fox. There were tracks of all kinds in the earth between piles of fallen leaves. Warlock found a good stick and swished it about as he walked. The air was crisp and the ground hard, and the air was definitely different from the outskirts of London and that of his home in America.

It felt… curiously relaxing. It was pleasant to be truly alone, not having bodyguards trailing after him.

He found two or three play areas that local kids must have constructed; forts and little clubhouse type of spots. He didn’t pull them apart as he might have done any day before this one. Nanny would be disappointed if she knew he’d done something like that. And he found he didn’t much want to, anyway.

After a simple but filling supper, Nanny led him to a room at the end of the upper hall past several other closed doors. The room had a bed and a dresser and a simple bookcase with a few children’s books on it. 

“Nanny?” he said.

“Yes, Warlock?”

“Why did you write to me?”

Nanny looked like she was trying to say several things without actually moving her mouth. She sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she said. “A few things have happened in the past year that made me think about who I am and what I’ve done. What I deserve, I suppose. What lives I’ve touched, what people I’ve helped.”

Warlock sat next to her carefully and listened.

“You… you were a very large part of my life. You were dreadfully important to me. And around the time you turned eleven, things… well, they changed in my life, and I eventually needed to know how you were. When I found you were unhappy, I wanted to do something about it.”

“I missed you,” Warlock said after a while. Saying it felt terribly vulnerable. But who could he tell, if not Nanny? “You left, and nothing was right. Everyone expected me to just _do_ things, but no one explained them to me the way you had. And I got… angrier and angrier, till I didn’t know how to be _not_ angry.” 

Nanny reached over and laid her hand on his. Warlock stared down at it.

“I didn’t want to go,” she said. “I wanted to stay by your side. But nannies have to leave, Warlock.”

“Couldn’t you have stayed and been a tutor or something?” he said, aware of how pitiful he sounded.

“What’s past is past,” she said, pressing his hand gently. “And today is today. Let’s enjoy our time now. If you like it here with us, you may come down as often as you like, you know.”

Warlock turned and slid his arms around her thin waist, resting his forehead on her bony shoulder.

“Thank you for rescuing me, Nanny,” he said, his voice muffled by her jacket.

  
  


_He’s angry,_ Junior whispered.

 _He’s sad,_ Rosa corrected.

 _He doesn’t know how to play,_ commented Angelica, puzzled.

 _One more sleep,_ said Clem.

  
  


The next morning Warlock had toast and tea with Aziraphale, while Nanny drank a cup of very strong coffee.

“Well, Master Warlock,” Aziraphale said. “What do you think you’ll do today?”

“I don’t know,” Warlock admitted, running his hand through his hair.

“Did you find the pond yesterday?”

“No,” he said. “How big is it?”

“Big enough to swim in when it’s warm enough,” Nanny said.

“I’ll pack you a picnic and you can explore in the other direction,” Aziraphale said. “Follow the stream the other way, past the house.”

Warlock set off with a basket of three different sandwiches, a thermos of tea, and a bottle of ginger beer, like some sort of 1940s Enid Blyton book character embarking on an expedition. There was probably a slab of seed cake wrapped in paper, too. It was likely the only way Aziraphale knew how to Prepare Provisions for a Kid’s Adventure.

Warlock’s initial response was to roll his eyes and be patronizing. Except underneath, he found that he quite liked being taken care of and set free at the same time. No expectations. No assumptions.

Pathetic. Almost certainly.

The pond was kind of cool. It wasn’t frozen over, the way the shallow stream was, but there was a rim of thin ice around the edges. There was a rope over it, hanging from a tree, and rocks that looked like good sitting spots if you didn’t mind getting your feet a bit wet on your way to them. 

It was too early for lunch, but he found he had an appetite anyway. He ate on the rocks, watching the birds overhead and the squirrels around the trees. He even caught sight of another rabbit in the underbrush for a moment or two.

There was indeed a chunk of seed cake. And two jam tarts.

After he tidied up his crumbs and papers, putting it all neatly back in the basket, he managed to almost clear the water entirely while jumping back to the bank, and wandered back to the cottage.

It was all very odd, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. It was like he was an entirely different person out here, away from staff who did things silently for him, and other kids who came from rich families and the city with attitudes of their own.

The obvious reason was Nanny. But he wasn’t even spending a lot of time with her. Or with the fussy, eccentric country gentleman that Brother Francis had become (and wasn’t that a trip, he’d already decided to not think about it too hard). Nanny and Aziraphale didn’t expect anything of him, except…

… except to be the best person he could be. Except to be nothing but a kid for a while. Only...

… he wasn’t entirely sure how to do any of that, really. He spent so much of his time being supercilious or sarcastic or bored or obnoxious or just plain mean. And here, in the middle of nowhere, all alone… he knew that the way he had been behaving before this weekend would have disappointed Nanny. And it would have horrified this new Brother Francis.

He found himself desperately wanting to avoid that.

He emerged from the woods and saw someone in the garden behind the cottage. At first he thought it must be Nanny, but then he realised that they were nowhere near as tall as Nanny was. As he got closer, he saw it was a kid, engrossed in something on the little bistro table.

When he was close enough, the kid’s head snapped up. They had dark red hair, a bit darker than Nanny’s, and amber eyes.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“Hey,” Warlock said after a pause. The tip of the kid’s tongue momentarily appeared between their lips, just a bit, then they cautiously said, “Hi.”

“I’m Warlock,” he said, moving forward slowly again. He put the basket down. When there was no mocking retort as he’d expected, he offered, “Yeah, it’s a weird name, I know.”

“No weirder than Datura.” The kid ran a hand through their shoulder-length hair, pushing it away from their face in a gesture Warlock recognised as the one he made frequently himself for the same reason. The kid wore an old black band t-shirt, a button-down plaid shirt tied around the waist, a short denim skirt, wrinkled knee-high socks, and a pair of clumpy black lace-up boots that came to mid-calf. The laces, Warlock noticed, were only halfway laced, with the excess wrapped around the shaft of the boot and tied in knots. The only concession to the January chill was an enormous scarf wrapped several times around their neck.

“So, what are you doing… Datura?” There were bits of metal all over the round table, and a scatter of tools.

“I’m taking apart an old clock.” Datura poked at a few things and lifted the clock face to show him. “I picked it up at a flea market. I want to figure out how it works.”

Warlock leaned his elbows on the other side of the table. “Mind if I watch?”

Datura looked askance at him.

“I… wasn’t expected anyone to be here.”

“Oh.” Warlock pushed off the table and straightened up.

“No no,” Datura said. “I don’t mind if you watch, I guess. I just thought I had time to work with no one around.”

Warlock leaned on the table again, interested despite himself. “Do you live around here? Aziraphale and…” He realized he had no idea what Nanny’s new name was. ”They’re okay with you in their garden?”

Datura smiled, unscrewing something.

“I live around here, yeah. And… yes, Mr Crowley and Mr Fell are fine with us playing in the garden.”

Warlock slid into one of the chairs and watched the kid take pieces of the clock apart confidently, laying things neatly to the side.

“How do you know how to put it all back together again?”

“I don’t.” Datura smiled again, eyes on the innards of the machine. “I haven’t done it yet.”

Warlock blinked. This was a completely foreign concept.

“I’m teaching myself,” Datura explained.

“How old are you?” Warlock asked before he could stop himself. Datura hesitated.

“Um… eight?”

“I’m fourteen, and I’ve never done anything like this.” Warlock stared at the neat lines of gears and springs and tiny screws. Datura looked at him doubtfully, and Warlock slumped back in his chair. “No, don’t worry, I’m not going to ask if I can have a go. I’ll just ruin it. I was only… everyone schedules stuff to keep me busy. It’s like they’re afraid to leave me to my own devices.”

Datura made a thoughtful noise, returning to the careful dismantling of the clock mechanism.

“Well,” Warlock said morosely, “to be fair, I’m an asshole a lot of the time. Entertaining me is probably their way of keeping me from being… me.”

Datura glanced up at him again, then back at the tiny screw they were working on. Warlock wondered if Datura was a boy or a girl; the clothes were mixed and the hair was neutral. He shrugged and decided it didn’t matter.

He tipped his head back and looked up at the sky.

“Are you hungry?” he said. Datura made a vaguely positive noise. “I’ll get us a snack. Hang on.”

He picked up the basket and went into the kitchen. Inside, there were two snakes wrapped around the wall branches, staring at him, and another coiled in a basket on the windowsill, looking out into the back garden.

“Uh, hi,” he said, and went into the living room. “Nanny?” he called. Aziraphale came out of a room instead, taking off a pair of white cotton gloves.

“Hello, Master Warlock. What is it you need?”

“One of the neighbour kids is working on something outside. Can we have a snack?”

Aziraphale blinked, casting a rapid glance around the room, then moving past him into the kitchen. Trailing along behind him, Warlock saw him glance up at the snakes, murmur, “There you are, my dears,” then look out the window into the back garden.

“Oh! Well, I’ll be—blessed.”

“You know them?”

“Yes, I—that’s Datura.” Aziraphale blinked several times.

“D’you have some biscuits or something, please, Aziraphale? Maybe more of that ginger beer?”

“Not ginger beer, no, Datura’s not a fan of fizzy things. Cocoa, I think.” Aziraphale began bustling about in the kitchen. “I’ll bring it out when it’s ready. Go on, Master Warlock.”

“Thanks,” Warlock said, and went back out. “Aziraphale says he’s going to make us cocoa.”

“I like cocoa,” Datura said, placing yet another tiny screw in the orderly line to the side of the table. “Maybe if we’re lucky, he’ll give us some of his gingerbread. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?” Warlock watched Datura’s precise, small movements until Aziraphale backed out of the cottage, turning to face them with a full tray in his hands. Warlock jumped to his feet and met him, taking the tray.

“Oh, goodness, Master Warlock, that’s terribly kind. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Warlock said, and he found to his astonishment that it really wasn’t. Then he made a face, leaned toward Aziraphale, and lowered his voice. “I think… can you not call me Master Warlock, please? It makes me feel odd. Especially in front of…” He motioned toward Datura with a tilt of his head. “It’s extra weird now.”

“Of course, Warlock. You had only to ask.” Aziraphale moved closer to the table. “Hello, Datura. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I… didn’t think anyone would be around,” Datura said apologetically.

“Warlock must have been a surprise.”

“He really was,” Datura said fervently.

“What are you working on?”

"The clock I picked up. I tried to wait, I really did, but I couldn’t.”

“It’s fine, dear,” Aziraphale said, patting Datura’s shoulder. “You can work here as long as you like.”

“Thanks, Azirafather,” Datura said, reaching for one of the mugs of cocoa on the tray. They froze at the look on Warlock’s face. “Um.”

Warlock shrugged. “It’s no stranger than me calling Nanny Nanny.” He picked up a piece of gingerbread and dunked it into his cocoa. When he glanced up, Datura was looking at him thoughtfully. Aziraphale smoothed down the front of his cardigan and said,

“Well, my dears, do enjoy. If you get bored or chilly, you’re more than welcome inside. Not the clock,” he warned Datura. “Either it goes back together or the bits go into a box to work on later.”

“Yes, Azirafather,” Datura agreed, and Aziraphale headed back inside.

“You go to school around here?” Warlock said, dunking his biscuit again. Datura was right. The gingerbread was great. Datura shook their head. 

“I’m homeschooled.”

“I’m at a boarding school up in Surrey.” Warlock regarded his biscuit. “My parents are back in America. Sometimes they… they travel a lot.”

“That sounds lonely,”’ Daura said, looking into their mug of cocoa. Warlock tipped his head back again and watched the clouds in the cold sky.

“It is,” he said quietly.

They sat in silence for a bit, munching gingerbread and drinking cocoa.

“Not fair that I’ve got something to do and you don’t,” Datura said as they set down their empty mug. “I’ll tidy up and we can go inside. Azirafather has a set of draughts; he plays with me sometimes. He’ll let us use it.” At Warlock’s look, they said, “Chequers, I think you call it?”

“Okay,” Warlock found himself saying. He wondered at himself yet again as Datura carefully transferred the clock and its innards into a box under the table. Maybe it was all the fresh air. Maybe it was being back around Nanny. Whatever it was, Warlock almost didn’t recognise himself. His behaviour was very out of character.

And maybe that was it, he thought as he put everything back on the tray. He didn’t feel like he had to play the part of Warlock. He didn’t need to sneer or scoff or run anything down. At any other time in any other place, he’d have laughed at anyone suggesting they play chequers. Here, though? Now? With this kid six years younger? It was fine.

Maybe it was Brother Francis’ influence, he thought with amusement.

“You’re smiling,” Datura said. “Anything funny?”

“Not really. I was thinking about Aziraphale. You call him Azirafather,” he added curiously.

“Er. Yeah. A few of us do.”

“I get it,” he said, picking up the tray. They headed for the kitchen door. “He’s pretty dad-like, isn’t he.”

“Yes,” Datura agreed sincerely.

“Wish he was my dad,” Warlock found himself saying with a touch of bitterness.

Datura paused, a hand on the doorknob. “Yours isn’t…?”

“Not much of a dad. No.” They went into the kitchen, and the snakes lying on their perches hissed. Datura darted a look up at them. “I don’t see him for more than a few days a year. What about you? What’s your dad like?”

“Father is… Father. He’s amazing.” Datura took the dishes off the tray and put them in the sink.

“So Aziraphale is like a bonus dad.”

“Yeah. Something like that.” Datura grinned at him impishly. “Let’s set up the draughts.”

They sprawled on the rug in front of the fireplace to soak up the warmth. Warlock dimly remembered Nanny teaching him to play when he was about four or five, but he hadn’t played in the intervening years. To his relief, Datura didn’t point out any of his errors. When they were on their third game, he looked up to see two of the snakes on the sofa. Datura followed his gaze and rolled their eyes.

“They like the fire. Snakes are cold-blooded, and heat sources are one of their favourite things. If we weren’t in the way, they’d be right in front of the hearth.”

There was a half-hearted hiss from the sofa, and Datura laughed.

“It’s the truth,” they said.

Warlock’s breath hitched as another snake flowed up next to them. This one was larger than the others, and it was looking from him to the board to Datura.

“Go away, Clem,” said Datura. “We’re playing this game.”

“You know their names?”

“Oh yeah. This is Clem. Junior—Anthony, I mean—and Angelica are over there on the sofa. Rosa’s either in Azirafather’s study or reading in a corner somewhere. Prolly her bedroom.”

Before Warlock could react to the reading comment, the snake staring at the board suddenly raised its head and looked over at one of the doors off the hall. A moment later Nanny walked in and raised an eyebrow.

“Well. You two look like you’re getting along just fine.”

“Datura was working on something out back when I came home. Aziraphale said it would be all right if we came in and played a game,” Warlock said.

Nanny looked at the snake between them, then at the sofa.

“Everyone seems remarkably relaxed,” she said. “Datura, make sure you clean up when you’re done.”

“Yes, Father,” Datura said, jumping one of Warlock’s pieces and removing it from the board. Then they realized what they’d said and bit their lip, darting an agonized look at Warlock.

“Ah,” said Nanny.

Clem hissed softly as he pulled his head back away from the board, curling up to hide under his coils.

“Sorry,” Datura said quietly. “Did I ruin everything?”

“That depends,” Nanny said, crouching down next to them. “We said you should do what you felt you were comfortable doing. Sounds like you were comfortable enough to forget yourself.”

“What,” Warlock finally burst out. “What is happening. I’m—has everyone been lying to me? I don’t understand. I don’t even know _what_ people are lying about.”

“Warlock,” Nanny said. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“I don’t know,” he said bitterly. “You’re a grownup.”

“I can’t argue with that fact, or with what you’re implying about how adults treat children in general,” Nanny said. “The grownups in your life haven’t been especially supportive.”

“Other than you. _Nanny_ ,” he said, and he felt his throat close up with oncoming tears. He suddenly felt much younger. “I don’t understand. I’m trying to not be angry. Help me.”

At his words, Nanny leaned over and put her arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” she said. “It’s okay. Ask me whatever you want to know.”

“You and Aziraphale?”

“We live together. Yes.”

“And… Datura…?”

“Is our child. Yes.” Warlock looked over at Nanny’s shoulder at Datura, who was now cross-legged with Clem in their lap. They looked worried and sad.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he said.

“We wanted to let you have an uncomplicated weekend.”

“Wait,” Warlock said. “Datura—they said Rosa was reading. In her bedroom. Do you have _two_ kids you didn’t tell me about?”

“Ah,” Nanny said again. “Aziraphale?" she called. “Can you spare us a moment, angel?”

Aziraphale appeared from his study once again, smiling. “Oh, look, almost everyone’s here now. You look terribly comfortable, children.” He reached over the back of the sofa and stroked one of the serpents, who hissed up at him. Startled, Aziraphale said, “Oh dear—you don’t mean—”

“Yep,” Nanny said, releasing Warlock and standing up. Aziraphale nodded.

“Right. Well then. Warlock, my dear, there’s something you should—”

There was an odd displacement of air, and a redheaded boy sat where a snake had been.

“Just _tell_ him,” he said. “S’not fair, everyone keeps dancing around it.”

With another displacement of air there was a redheaded girl next to him.

“Anthony’s right,” she said. “He’s scared, and that’s not a good thing. Stop _scaring_ him.”

Warlock’s mouth hung open. He stared at the pair on the sofa. Their hair was brighter than Datura’s, but he could see now—now!—how they all resembled Nanny.

“... snakes,” he said.

“We _were_ going to preface this with a brief introduction to the supernatural nature of the family,” Nanny said dryly, looking over her glasses at the pair of children on the sofa. “But someone got impatient.”

“Father, I _know_ I said I would be snakey all weekend, and we were jealous before, but it isn’t _fair_ to him,” the boy—Anthony?—burst out.

“Besides, Datura got to play with him,” the girl said resentfully.

“I didn’t think he’d be back so soon,” Datura admitted. “I really wanted to open that clock.”

“You have… four kids?” Warlock said. He knew he’d have to come to terms with the snake thing in a moment, but his brain wanted to ignore it as long as possible.

“Five,” Nanny said, reaching down and taking the large serpent out of Datura’s lap. “This is Clem. He prefers to stay a snake.”

“They’re no different from you or I,” Aziraphale said quietly. “We are all God’s creatures. Some are simply a bit more… miraculous.”

Warlock slowly stood up, looking at the snake in Nanny’s arms. He swallowed and carefully reached out a hand. Clem timidly reached his head toward him, and a tongue tickled his fingers.

“Love is love,” said Aziraphale. “A family is what you make it.”

Nanny was watching him, Warlock could tell. He looked up at her. She waited.

“I’m… not going to crush anyone under my heel, Nanny,” he said, feeling that it was important to say even though it didn't have anything to do with the situation. “I don’t _want_ to.”

“Despite all the encouragement I have previously given you, hellspawn,” said Nanny, “I am not disappointed. You choose your own path.”

Warlock looked down at Datura, who was now nervously twisting the cuffs of the shirt tied around their waist.

“Pax?” Datura whispered.

“Ginger beer, seed cake, pax—this really _is_ a 1940s kids’ book,” Warlock said. “I’m not mad at you. Not really. I’m just trying to … readjust. It’s—it’s a lot, you know? I haven’t seen Nanny in years, and now I find out she’s married and has kids, when just this morning she didn’t.”

“There’s been a lot of readjustment going around these past few months,” Aziraphale murmured. Nanny snorted.

Junior bounced off the sofa to his feet. 

“Okay, are we done? Can we take Warlock to play in the woods now?”

“He’s on my team for dinosaur pirates!” Angelica said, climbing over the back of the sofa to beat Junior.

“No fair!” he shouted. “We should scissors-paper-rock for it!”

“ _Why_ is there so much _noise_?” Rosa said from the stairs. She came down, a thumb between the pages of a closed book to mark her spot. “Why are you—” She froze, looking at Warlock, who looked back at her.

“Why didn’t anyone _tell_ me?” she said indignantly.

“That’s what I’ve been asking,” Warlock said, smiling lopsidedly at her. Rosa looked like she wasn’t sure how to respond, then finally came down the last few stairs and moved into the living room, tucking the book under her arm and extending her free hand.

“I’m Rosa. Rosa Victoria Zipporah Fell-Crowley. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Warlock took her hand and carefully shook it.

“There,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “Now we’re all together, properly, as a family should be.”

At his words, Warlock found his chest feeling remarkably tight. He looked over at Nanny, who had a hand pressed to the base of her throat as if she too was trying to keep down some sort of emotion that was fighting to overflow.

“Nanny?” he said. “Are you okay?”

To his astonishment, Nanny removed her glasses. He saw dampness on her cheeks, and welling up in bronze eyes.

“My boy,” she said. “You have no idea.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There, I have pulled Warlock into my Wiggleverse stream! Many thanks to Quilly who pointed out a couple of timeline issues for me. Quilly is my Wiggleverse copilot. <3


End file.
